Cause and Effect
by Citrus Wars
Summary: We all know the effect: Anya, Dimitri, and Vlad end up traveling to Paris together. But what happened between 1916 and 1926 that caused them to end up where they did? Starts with the Bolshevik Revolution and will probably go at least to the movie's end.
1. Chapter 1

Regal music twirled its way through the grand ballroom. Couples dressed in the most elegant, expensive clothing twirled as well; every bit as regal as the music. Anastasia surveyed the surrounding court briefly until she saw the entrance of her beloved grandmother. Her face lit up into a grin reserved for that very grandmother. Just as her grandmother sat down, she saw her friend and partner in crime peek out from behind the doorframe that led to the kitchen. Her grin grew even wider as she stuck out her tongue and made a face at him before her father picked her up and spun her in the air.

"Oh, papa!" she yelled in delight.

The czar smiled as his daughter smiled, feeling the warmth and happiness radiate from her. As he set her down she curtsied swiftly and clumsily as she rushed to greet her grandmother, and hopefully her friend after.

It was strange, she thought, that only she noticed him. Nobody else seemed to care that he was there. But oh, well; maybe for three centuries the royalty had not mixed with servants, but Anastasia was never one to follow protocol.

Unlike her sisters, she preferred to do things differently. That even included drawing-she had seen a new style of art called… what was it? She asked herself, Squarism? No, cubism! And so, being the adventurous girl she was, she embarked on a quest to become a cubist-her first work of art was a picture of her grandmother when she was younger and had dark hair.

As she rushed up the steps to her grandmother, she pulled the picture out and proudly presented it to her. "Look what I made for you, Grandmama!" The Dowager Empress received it with a laugh and a tap on the nose.

"And look what I have for you, dear," replied the Dowager Empress, pulling out an ornate gold music box.

"For me?" questioned Anastasia breathlessly, "Is it a jewelry box?"

While Anastasia was entranced by her Grandmother's gift, her friend was slowly creeping forward from the kitchen, hoping to get a chance to talk to her. He was almost close enough to say 'hi' when one of the formal waiters popped out of nowhere scolding "Dimitri! You're supposed to be in the kitchen!"

Anastasia didn't even notice, to Dimitri's dismay.

"Look," instructed the Dowager Empress as she opened the box with a specially shaped necklace.

As the top opened, softer and sweeter music floated into Anastasia's consciousness. She quickly recognized the tune and with a gasp exclaimed, "It plays our lullabye!"

"You can play it at night before you go to sleep and pretend that it's me singing," said the Dowager Empress in response.

"_On the wind, Cross the sea; Hear this song and remember,"_ started the Dowager Empress.

"_Soon you'll be home with me; once upon a December."_ They ended as Anastasia joined in.

The Dowager Empress took the necklace-key she used to open it before and handed it to Anastasia. "Read what is says."

"Together… in… Paris," read Anastasia. As the words sunk in she exclaimed, "Really! Oh, Grandmama!"

Embracing her grandmother and donning the wonderful necklace that held such promise, Anastasia smiled at the thoughts rushing through her mind.. Paris! She had never been there before, come to think of it, she had never been out of the country!

As she stood basking in the warmth of her future visit to Paris, a lone, dark figure made his way through the crowd. His face was a gruesome and terrifying picture to behold; a smile fit for Satan and eyes focused on one thing: Anastasia's father, the Czar of Russia.

"How dare you return to the palace?" accused Nikolas, stepping forward.

"But, I am your _confidante_!" replied the towering figure, Rasputin.

"Confidante!" replied Nikolas in a scorning voice, "Ha! You are a _traitor_! Get out!"

Anger and outrage mingled on Rasputin's ghastly face as he thundered, "You think you can banish the Great Rasputin? By the unholy powers vested within me, _I_ banish _you!_ With a curse! Mark my words, you and your family will die within a fortnight!"

The Czar turned to look back at his family members, who were huddled in fear. He saw his mother, his wife, and his beloved children; they meant the world to him, and he could not stand by and allow them to be harmed while he could do something about it.

"I will not rest until I see the end of the Romanov line, forever!" continued Rasputin, holding aloft a glowing green cylinder that Anastasia could not help but think was filled with nothing but pure evil.

A chandelier fell onto the floor of the large ballroom. Men of the court yelled in outrage while their partners screamed in terror. Anastasia looked around the room with her eyes wide, and saw Dimitri, who had snuck back out of the kitchen. Their eyes connected in fear for a moment, until Anastasia looked back to the ballroom to see Rasputin stalking away. Everyone on the dance floor moved out of his way in fear, giving him a clear path to the door.

Nikolas stood rooted to the spot as he watched Rasputin's receding figure. With terror and hatred consuming his senses, he wondered what he could do to save his family.

The children were all put to bed, with strong assurances from both their mother and their father that all would be well; that Rasputin would never be allowed to harm them. None of the children were so naïve as to believe that, and neither were their parents. Guards were posted at each of their doors, as well as at the bedroom door of the Czar and Czarina.

As Nikolas entered the room, he found his dear wife sitting on their bed, staring blankly into the distance. She looked how her husband felt, although he did not show it. He let out a shaky breath as he sat down next to her, looked her in the eyes and said "I will do all I can to save our family."

Alexandra looked back up at him and replied, "I know."

And for the moment, all really was well.

"Come, children!"

Thunder rumbled and reverberated through the halls, accompanied by screams and yells as the royal family ran through the halls to the basement. The Dowager Empress was pulling along Anastasia to make sure they did not lose her when in a moment of pure childlike action, Anastasia screamed, "My music box!" and took of toward her room.

"Anastasia!" yelled the Dowager Empress as she turned to run after her, "Come back! Come back!"

Panting, Anastasia made it back to her room and crouched down to pick up her music box. The Dowager Empress quickly followed her in and closed the door. "Anastasia!" she cried in desperation.

Hearing someone enter the room, Dimitri opened the servants' door and peeked out. Seeing his friend and the Dowager Empress, he gasped and herded them through the door.

Anastasia turned as she dropped the precious music box that she had risked so much for, albeit unknowingly. "No! My music box!"

"Go! GO!" yelled Dimitri, pushing her through the door and closing it behind them.

A group of the rebelling soldiers opened the bedroom door just as Dimitri closed the hidden one. He looked upon their vicious faces and felt nothing more than pure hatred. Who were these people to try and hurt the royal family? "Where are they, boy?" growled one of them. Dimitri knew in the back of his mind that he had already done what he could do, but in a final act of defiance he threw a glass object from the mantel above him. The soldiers glared at him with contempt as one hit Dimitri with the butt of his gun.

As the hard metal struck his head, Dimitri collapsed to the ground, seeing no more but darkness. The last thought to pass through his mind was that at least he had done what he could to help his friend.

Anastasia's fight, however, was far from over. As she and the Dowager Empress rushed outside, she felt nothing but fear; pure adrenaline. The Dowager Empress looked back at the palace that was once such a happy place, knowing that no fate but death awaited her dear son and the rest of his family.

It was with this crushing sentiment that the pair continued running across the ice.

"Grandmama!" cried Anastasia.

"Keep up with me, darling" she replied, trying to stay strong for her dear Anastasia.

Down from the bridge above jumped the now ghoulish Rasputin. Anastasia let out a heart-wrenching scream as he grabbed her foot and pulled her down. "Rasputin!" cried the Dowager Empress in shock.

"Lemme go! Please!" shrieked Anastasia.

"You'll never escape me, child! Never…" he growled.

Just as the Dowager Empress was losing all hope of escape, a cracking sound reverberated under the bridge. "Augh!" grunted Rasputin as the ice beneath him cracked and collapsed. With no other choice, he released Anastasia to desperately claw for a handhold to pull himself back up, but to no avail.

The Dowager Empress heaved Anastasia back to her feet and continued running, running and running. She ran with no particular destination; just away from the terror that remained behind them.

Her tired feet eventually brought them to the train station, but only just as the train was leaving. Summoning her last remaining energy, the tired Empress sprinted to the back of the train commanding "Anastasia, hurry!" She knew this was their only hope.

She reached the attendant, who quickly pulled her up onto the train. Anastasia, with small legs and no energy left gasped, "Grandmama!"

Running solely on desperation the Dowager Empress reached out over the rail. "Here! Take my hand! Hold onto me!"

"Don't let go!" demanded Anastasia.

Her hand slipped out of her grandmother's as she shrieked. Time stopped for the Empress who was engulfed in fear; time stopped, but the train did not. Anastasia was lost-and her grandmother could help her no more. The last view of her beloved granddaughter that the Empress could catch was Anastasia's terror-filled blue eyes falling as the train quickly and methodically built up speed and distance.

As Anastasia fell to the ground, those beautiful blue eyes closed and like her friend back in the palace, she saw no more but darkness.

A/N-So this is my first fanfic. I've been writing stuff for a while (not fanfics) but I figured I'd try my hand. Obviously this part is based on the first scene of the movie, the Bolsheviks storming the castle and killing the royal family. I'll be doing a lot of research, and I'll try to stick as close to historical facts as possible (which will be hard, given that they've already proven that Anastasia was in fact killed in 1916 by the Bolsheviks. But ignoring that tiny little snitch…) and stick as close to the characters and how they are portrayed in the movie as possible. Wish me luck! We'll see how this goes.


	2. Chapter 2

People rushing around the train station stepped over and around the small girl lying on the ground, paying her no heed. It was not abnormal for people to be passed out on the ground, although they were usually drunken, older men. But for the train-traveling residents of St. Petersburg, the unidentified young princess was no more than another homeless child with nowhere to go.

_ Anastasia!_ She screamed silently. Her mouth held agape, the Empress continued to hold out her hand as the train chugged forward, as if she thought her beloved granddaughter would grab it out of nowhere and climb to safety.

But her hand remained empty.

Her eyes remained fixated on the small, crumpled body of Anastasia. It seemed to be shrinking with every passing second until it disappeared and was no more than another casualty of that fateful night.

The old woman's heartbeat accelerated as she seemed to come back to life in a frenzy. "Anastasia! Anastasia, no!" She turned desperately to the attendant who had pulled her up and grabbed collar, "You must stop the train immediately! That is my granddaughter back there!"

The attendant looked down at the old woman clutching at his coat, and past the desperation saw something that shocked him. _It's the Dowager Empress!_ He knew the communists would waste no time; they would be searching the trains at the next stop. And if not at that stop, then they would at the next.

"Madam, please wait here, do not move. Understand? Do not leave this train car."

The Empress nodded numbly and leaned against the wall, suddenly devoid of all energy. The attendant turned and rushed to his co-worker, "Ivan! That lady over there," he panted, pointing at the dumbstruck Empress, "is the Dowager Empress."

Ignoring the evident shock of Ivan, the attendant continued bluntly, "The Bolsheviks won't want her to get away alive. We have to help her escape."

Ivan narrowed his eyes and glared at the attendant accusingly. "Are you mad, Anton?" he whispered roughly, "If they find out we were hiding her they'll kill us!"

"They'll kill us if they find her on the train, whether we're hiding her or not," replied Anton.

"Then we'll kick her off at the next stop and be rid of the problem. I don't know about you, but I don't want to die!" continued Ivan, his voice rising.

"Nobody will find out," reasoned Anton "We can easily smuggle her to Western Europe, and then let her get on her way to escape this damned country."

Ivan continued glaring at Anton and squared his jaw in defiance. Anton stared back. He knew his mother country was going down to communism, and in that moment of assertion, he became the second person on that auspicious night to make a final act of defiance that would ultimately save the Romanov bloodline.

Ivan saw the resolve in his friend's eyes and looked over at the Dowager Empress. She sat on the floor of the car, hollow eyes staring into blank space; it was the look of someone who hat no reasons left for hope.

"You see? She won't help herself, not anymore. We have help her instead," encouraged Anton.

Ivan took a inhaled deeply and breathed, "Okay."

Anton allowed himself a small smile before returning to absolute solemnity.

As Anton walked away from her, the Grand Duchess leaned against the side of the train car and allowed her to sink down to the ground. The aching of her old bones drew no reaction from her. _I failed her. She will die._ She tried to take calming breaths, but nothing could help her release the smoldering feeling of guilt.

She glanced over at the young man who pulled her onto the train with a mixture of gratitude and anger; gratitude that he had saved her, but anger that he did not save Anastasia as well.

She saw him conversing furiously with another attendant. No doubt he had recognized her by now; she wasn't hard to identify, and the fur robe that undoubtedly cost at least two hundred rubles was not helping her case. Maybe they would hand her over to the Bolsheviks. Without a doubt, they would kill her. No shiver of fear went down her spine, only a spark of hope. Would that be so bad? She would be with the rest of her family. _And Anastasia_, chimed in a voice in the back of her head. Anastasia; the name was now synonymous with guilt. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to be killed; the only reason she had escaped was because Anastasia wanted her music box, she didn't do anything particularly special to be deserving of life right now.

Was this what people meant when they said you made your peace with death? To be so alone and hopeless that you had nothing left to live for? It always sounded so much better in stories.

The Empress closed her eyes to try and escape from the culpability she held for Anastasia's death. But all she could see was Anastasia falling almost in slow motion to the ground, blue eyes pleading silently for help, and her last remaining family receding into the distance.

"Madam," a voice interrupted her masochistic thoughts, "Please come with us."

As she slowly opened her eyes and looked up, the Empress saw the two attendants standing above her. The one who had saved her held out his hand to help her up. She looked at the hand with distaste, but decided to grab it anyway. The attendant pulled her up and whispered, "Please follow us, your Highness."

So they had recognized her; the Empress was not surprised. She followed them into the train car and through the aisle. Car through car they walked; the Empress devoid of all emotion, and the two attendants with a certain confidence and purpose to their step. Finally, they arrived at the baggage cart.

"So is this where you will keep me until the communists come to get me?" asked the Empress calmly.

The two young men turned to face her, surprise and confusion evident in their facial expressions. "No, your Highness," stuttered Ivan in shock.

"We are not going to give you up that easily, your Highness," stated Anton, "We are going to get you out of Russia at least, if not farther."

"Young men, I may be old, but I am not stupid. The communists will check here. There is no use in trying to hide me, just let them find me at the next stop. I have nothing else to care about," reasoned the Empress, her voice cracking in sorrow with the memory of the evening's losses.

"You're right, madam, they will check here. In fact, there is no use in trying to hide you in any of the usual stowaway spots," declared Anton bluntly, "So we will hide you in plain sight."

With that, he pushed open the door to the luggage car and led the two in behind him. He stood for a few seconds surveying the piles of baggage. His eyes at last locked on a bag and he pulled it down off of the shelf and opened it. As he went through the belongings, Ivan walked to the door and looked out the small window. "Anton, we're getting close to the next stop. Hurry up."

Anton nodded gravely and pulled out a simple dress and coat. He stood and handed them to the Empress. "We are going to go out into the dining car and pretend we're serving dinner. We will return in fifteen minutes, so be changed and ready by then," he instructed, nodding down at the suitcase he added on, "You can put the clothes that you're wearing now in there. You won't need them anymore."

Anton turned and walked swiftly out of the train car, Ivan following behind him. The Empress stood in shock for a moment before unfolding the clothes Anton had handed her. The shapeless dress was a simple brown and the coat was ankle-length and black with a few large pockets. She nodded at the clothes, feeling some faint respect for the young attendant. He had certainly chosen clothes that a Dowager Empress would never wear.

She changed quickly into the clothes and placed her much nicer clothes into the suitcase. She felt no guilt taking this lady's clothes, if anything this woman would be happy to find clothes fit for a royal in her bag.

_Why am I doing this?_ wondered the Empress. She had nothing left for her, no family… Except Sophie, her cousin. As different as the two women were, the Empress always enjoyed spending time with her much younger cousin.

Of course, if she wanted to make it to Paris, she had to get out of Russia first. And that meant escaping the detection of the Bolsheviks. Fortunately, Rasputin seemed to be out of the picture; the Empress knew that nobody could survive getting stuck under the ice. With any luck, that applied to Rasputin as well.

She knew a simple change of clothes was not enough to disguise her from the Bolsheviks; nearly everyone in Russia knew what she looked like. Given, the change into more modest clothes would do a world of difference-every time she was seen or pictured in public she was wearing lavish gowns and expensive coats.

Then it hit her-she didn't have to make herself look like a completely different person, she just had to not look like she did in public. She conjured up a mental image of the Empress that the Russian public knew: classy and stylish clothing; that was taken care of, hair up in a bun, back straight, and a regal expression plastered on her face. The bun was easy enough to take care of. She pulled the hair band out of her shoulder-length hair, ignoring the stinging sensation of hair being pulled from her scalp. She didn't bother to even run her fingers through it to remove the knots; the messier the better.

She had done practically all that could be done for her physical appearance, she just had to hold herself differently now. As she consciously tried to bend her back over and move her facial muscles to a more forlorn expression, she realized she didn't need to. Stuck on her face was a manifestation of the lost and hopeless feelings she was harboring inside; she had long since stopped holding herself regally, as though guilt was physically pushing down her shoulders, to lower her to the level of morality she felt she should be at.

"Quick, comrades!"

The train pulled to a stop at the next station, the doors opening. As passengers stood up to get out, a group of large men clambered on, blocking the doorway.

"Nobody may leave this train until it has been searched."

Anton and Ivan exchanged quick glances before heading back into the baggage car, where they found the Empress looking profoundly different, almost older.

"We'll put you in the most crowded car; they probably won't search as well there. If they do happen to ask, you came from Belomorsk. You don't know anything about the overthrow of the Romanovs. If you really had been on this train since Belomorsk, you wouldn't have gotten news of it," instructed Anton quickly and emotionlessly.

The Empress nodded, and as she walked to exit the baggage car, Anton's expression softened slightly. "You'll be fine, Your Grace. We will do everything we can to protect you."

The two attendants exited the car after the Empress. Anton stopped halfway through the dining car, resuming the stature of a train attendant. "Madam, my colleague Ivan here will escort you back to your seat, I have to help serve here. Have a pleasant remainder of your trip."

Honestly the Empress replied, "Thank you young men, I appreciate the help."

"Of course, madam, it is our pleasure," replied Ivan, continuing the honest-charade.

Ivan held out his arm to the Empress, who took it. Leaning on him more than she needed to, they walked through train car after train car until getting to the lowest-class, most crowded one.

Ivan observed the many faces sitting in the car until he spotted one that looked clean-shaven and slightly upper-class. He marched up to the man and asked, "Would you like to sit in first-class?"

Dazed, the man nodded as Ivan helped him grab his bags. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience; this woman was sitting in first class but did not wish to sit there any more. The two of you can simply switch seats and tickets," the man dumbly handed Ivan his ticket as Ivan continued talking, "And you will need to have a ticket to prove you are allowed to sit here, so…"

He paused fumbling through his front pocket, eventually procuring a first-class ticket. "Here you go, sir. Thank you for understanding."

Turning back to the Empress as the man walked away happily, Ivan handed her the ticket and led her to the seat. "Relax madam. I will come and get you when we leave Russia. I have no doubt that you will make it out," he whispered almost noiselessly.

"Thank you," responded the Empress.

As he walked off, the Empress felt profoundly calm. Although she now had something to live for, she realized that whatever happened would happen no matter what she did now.

She didn't even turn like everyone else when the door was slammed open and one of the Bolsheviks announced roughly, "Everyone get out your ticket!"

Quietly questioning murmurs circulated around the train car, everyone asking who these people were and why they needed to see the passengers' train tickets. The Empress looked around questioningly like everyone else; now was not the time to stand out. As she pulled out the train ticket that Ivan got for her, she mussed up her hair a little more and tried to look as old and exhausted as possible. As a large man walked up the aisle and stopped by her row she handed her ticket to him along with the other two women sitting on either side of her.

To her surprise and relief, the man did not spare her a second glance as he continued up the aisle. As she watched his back recede and eventually leave the train car, she felt a surge of anger. Those were the people that killed her son, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren. They did not deserve to be strutting around Russia as if the owned the place.

_But they do own the place,_ the Empress reminded herself.

As the last one exited the train car, the buzz of voices filled the car again, one question at the tip of everyone's tongues: "Who are they?"

The Empress was tempted to inform everyone of who they were: murderers. But that wouldn't help her escape. So she simply tuned them all out and leaned against the window.

The door that the Bolsheviks had just exited opened and Anton entered. "Ladies and Gentleman, I apologize for the inconvenience, but by orders of the new Bolshevik government, this train will be making no more stops until we reach the Russian border. If you wish to get off at this stop, do so and you can wait until regular train schedules resume. We have not been informed of when this will be, but we expect it will be sometime in the coming week," he observed everyone's shocked faces, his eyes finally falling upon the Empress's calm face. He gave her a quick half-smile before continuing, "Again, I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but we will be here for another fifteen minutes, so if you wish to get off you will have to be quick about it."

With that, he turned and exited the train car. There was a moment of shocked silence before people began scurrying about and grabbing luggage, abandoning the train as if it were a sinking ship.

The fifteen minutes passed in a blur, and as the train started to move again, the Empress's gaze returned to the scenery of Russia that once brought her great joy to see. Now it brought nothing but heartache.

Her last thought before falling asleep was that she would _never_ return to Russia, whether the Bolsheviks held onto the rule or not.


End file.
